


Courage in Unlikely Places

by Ellerigby13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Balrogs, Crack, Gen, Hobbits, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13
Summary: After years of slumber, Darcy comes across a Little Thing she's never seen before: a Hobbit.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Monster Mash





	Courage in Unlikely Places

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack, and definitely not Tolkien-accurate. Submitted for Literary Monsters week in the Darcylvania event. Thank you for stopping by <3

Darcy awoke with an almighty stretch, embers flickering off the end of her wings as she flexed them outward, raising both arms high above her head. The creature on the bridge from one side of the mountain to the next took a cautious step backwards, but it was so tiny she would have missed it had it not moved.

“You must be the Balrog,” it said, brandishing a shiny toothpick at her. 

She squinted at it, rubbing the brimstone out of her eyes. When she looked closely, she could identify yellow hair, blue eyes, and very hairy feet. “You can call me Darcy. And who, little thing, are you?”

It paused, whether out of confusion or terror, she couldn’t tell. The toothpick did not lower from its thick, grubby hands. “My name is Steve. I come from the Shire.”

The Shire. It rung an odd bell for her, one that she hadn’t heard in quite some time. Still, she knew the Shire must be farther than the realms of Middle Earth she’d traveled. “Are you a dwarf? You’re too short and fuzzy to be a man, but not quite as hairy as any dwarves I’ve seen, and I live in this dusty, forgotten place.”

It lifted its chin with defiance, the toothpick raising ever higher. “I am no dwarf, but a Hobbit. I have come to seek out a band of friends who ventured to Moria to explore its riches, and whom I fear have fallen to dragon sickness in these halls.”

Dragon sickness. That explained the mortals who had come through in the weeks prior. They had posed her and these halls little threat, so she had let them pass without resistance. The party returned through her hall not much longer, one restrained and raving with delusions. But wherever they’d come from, they’d at least been able to protect one another from the difficulties of their journey. This little one, this Steve, had come alone.

“I might have seen some mortals passing through,” she said slowly, leaning her forearms against the bridge, far enough that she wouldn’t scorch him, but close enough he took a precautionary step back anyway. “Why didn’t they take you the first time?”

“I didn’t want to come,” he replied, little brows drawn together in the light of her flame. “I don’t care about riches, or dragons.” He lifted his toothpick - a sword, she realized, now that she was closer - threateningly, turning his body into an offensive stance. “But I do care about my friends. So where are they?”

She felt a smile tugging on her lips. He was puny; she could crush him under her thumb like an insect if she wanted, but he held that little toothpick with blazing eyes, as if he truly believed he could cut her down on his own. For that, she liked him.

“They left almost as soon as they’d come. One of them  _ definitely _ had dragon sickness. But if they haven’t come back to your Shire, I’d assume they’ve taken a wrong turn on the way home. Perhaps to Rivendell in the north? Or Rohan in the south?” She allowed herself to smile down at him now, brimstone flaming between her great, wide teeth. “I’d hazard a guess that the men in Rohan are a bit more hospitable than any creature very near here.”

She could hear, far back, in the other deep parts of the caves, the new bands of Orcs stirring, making work of the forgotten pathways left by the dwarves. To her surprise, Steve lowered his sword. “Are you going to kill me?”

Her tail swished back and forth behind her, betraying her amusement. “No, little thing. You’re far too interesting to die just yet. But you’d better leave this place, before the sky turns too dark for a Hobbit on his lonesome to survive through the night.”

His little mouth opened, and then closed, a muscle in his jaw tensing while he sheathed his sword back by his side. “Why do you extend me such kindness? I’ve heard the terrors the great Balrog brought to the creatures who once walked these halls.”

She laughed, very tempted to singe his clothes a little, to brush the flaxen hair from his forehead with the tip of one of her claws. It had been too many years that she had passed without the touch of another, mortal or not, that might be received in a way that he had described as “kind.”

“Go now, Steve,” she said firmly, cradling her chin in her hand, “before I change my mind.”

Had she been a touch bit mightier or braver, she might have told him that there were so few mortals who bothered to ask her such questions, who swung their swords first and asked questions later. Instead, she pressed her hand to her lips and blew him one farewell kiss, a long, swirling ring of smoke, as he stepped away toward the door, not taking his eyes off her.

If she wasn’t mistaken, the little Hobbit’s cheeks filled with color as he disappeared into the daylight.


End file.
